


buzz of a cut

by spickerzocker



Series: Social Breachfest 2020 - spickerzocker [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Social Breachfest 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spickerzocker/pseuds/spickerzocker
Summary: Newt, Hermann and snuggling. Drift after-effects may apply.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: Social Breachfest 2020 - spickerzocker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731184
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: Social Breachfest 2020- Collected Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! Social distancing sure sucks, huh? Never thought I'd be this touchstarved yet here we are! 
> 
> Beta'ed by the amazing [Shimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shhdarkishere). Thanks for catching me when I decide that some words look Fake(tm). Love you bro. 
> 
> Title from a mashup of the lyrics from "Blood In The Cut" by K.Flay. Brain misfired. Not sorry.

The reading lamp above Hermann’s bed flickers and hums, painting the room in harsh fluorescent twilight. 

Newt noses at Hermann’s shoulder where his face is pressed into Hermann’s shirt, Hermann’s breaths a soft and steady movement under Newt’s body. 

Hermann plays with Newt’s hair, a few scritches through the top interspersed with the occasional brush through the short hairs at the back on his neck. 

Newt turns his head to the side and starts biting at the nail of his thumb. 

(not quite biting. sliding the edge of his nail along where his bottom front teeth meet, like there’s something stuck between them) 

(a nervous tick, when he’s thinking of something that he has to say but doesn’t want to) 

(there are not that many of those, but more than you’d think) 

Hermann sighs and says: “What is it?” 

Newt clears his throat. He hums, a single note. Then: “You know, my tattoos?” 

“Hrm.” 

“I’m almost done with the, whole, y’know.” Newt waves his hand in the general direction of his whole body. “So. Last session’s coming up. Gonna go to the parlor and put myself under the needle one last time. If you don’t count touchups. Which I don’t.” 

Hermann shifts under Newt. 

(it’s strange how easy it is to forget how close you are to another person until they move) 

“Well, do what you must.” 

Newt stares at the wall (it’s just, what, 30 centimetres/ a foot away and already blurry? jesus, his eyesight sucks) and swallows. 

He says “I’d like you to come with me.” 

The hair petting stops. 

Newt doesn’t flinch. 

(he expects the instinct to be there. but it isn’t. he knows hermann inside and out, same as himself, same as hermann knows him) 

The hair petting resumes. 

“If you insist.” 

Newt breathes in, closer to shaky than he’d like. “It’s just that-” 

(we’ve been through this together and if you don’t stay until the very end, until i finish what i started that day that trespasser burst through the sea, drunk on grief and scientific euphoria i might just lose you along with so much and i don’t think i can, i can’t-) 

A hand at the back of the neck, a steady pressure. “Shh. I know, Newton. I know.” 

Newt relaxes into the warmth of Hermann’s body. Newt smiles into Hermann’s chest and drifts off to sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt's tattoo is finished. Hermann is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed, again, by Shimo. Bro, you're amazing, the best and the *cowboy voice* fastest beta in the west.

The bell above the door dings when Newt shoves the door open. 

“I told you, dude, there’s no need to rush. She’s used to it, okay, she probably planned-” 

(they’re on time, for once in his life. hermann made them leave early) 

(newt knows hermann is looking around and turning up his nose and he can’t blame him, the whole place looks like a hep trap. it’s just the aesthetic though, newt would trust qiaolian with his life) 

(when he got the beginnings of the piece, it wasn’t just the aesthetic. they don’t talk about it) 

Qiaolian looks up from the welcome desk. 

“Oh hey, it’s you. With time to spare this time” 

Newt raises his and Hermann’s linked hands and waves them around some. 

“Qiaolian, this is Hermann. He’s my plus-one. Say hi, Herms.” 

“Ohh, the legendary Hermann. Come along.” 

She leads them to the back room, where the actual tattooing happens. As soon as she turns her back, Hermann turns to Newt and hisses, “Newton. What on earth have you told her?” 

“Only good things, I swear! Okay, fine,  _ mostly _ good things.” 

Newt unbuttons his shirt left-handed (perks of being a wunderkind is being ambidextrous, bee-atch), only letting go of Hermann’s hand when he has to slip the sleeve off. He flings the shirt onto a nearby stool where Hermann picks it up immediately and folds it. 

“So, what are we doing first? The back or the couple bits on the front? I bet the front, right?” Newt asks and hops onto the antique dentist’s chair. 

“Got it in one, hotshot,” Qiaolian says and finger-guns at him. Newt winks back. (he knows that it makes him look twitchy. he doesn’t care, she’s seen him close to his worst and didn’t run) 

Hermann puts his nose in the air (like an arrogant git) and sniffs imperiously (snootily). “I’d like to see your permits and sterilisation documents before we start, please.” 

Qiaolian shrugs and smiles like a shark. “Sure, no trouble. Right along here.” 

Newt rolls his eyes at Hermann as they walk by, turning in his seat to sit sideways. Their conversation is muted from the other room. Newt dangles his feet like when he used to be a little kid. (the situation is almost familiar. muted voices, waiting for the adults to finish talking behind his back like he didn’t notice it and to decide what to do with him. dangling his feet. this time, it doesn’t sting) 

When they come back, Hermann catches Newt’s eye and nods once. Newt smirks at him (told you so). Qiaolian smirks too as she snaps on her gloves. 

“I like him,” she tells Newt. 

It’s just a few spots left to fill in on the front, waves in the background, connecting gradients, little bits and pieces between the great bodies of the kaiju (he does not dwell on what that could mean if he let it). The disinfectant wipes are not cold but the air is chillier afterwards. Newt holds his breath while she applies the transfers (like she can’t freehand it at this point). He gets up, gives it a cursory once-over in the mirror and flops back down into the seat. 

Newt says, “Yeah, looks good, let’s roll” and watches Qiaolian as she loads up the machine (fresh needles, fresh ink). 

She starts on Newt’s ribs and it takes a couple seconds before Newt tenses. He forgot how much ribs hurt, fuck. He tries to breathe through it (in-and-out-and-hold-and-in-) and feels a soft weight on his shoulder. Then Hermann is gently pressing his thumb into Newt’s trapezius (it will be alright) and Newt puts his hand over Hermann’s and smiles. (a little tightly, but more sincerely than the mean of his smiles) 

(more sincerely than the average too) 

Newt basks in the warmth of Hermann’s hand and the burn-buzz of the needle until Qiaolian stops and tells Newt to get up. Between the three of them, they bandage and clingwrap Newt’s front, though Hermann mostly sits and tsks at them whenever their wrapping starts to slip. Quiaolian and Newt do the disinfect-transfer-and-approve dance again for the back. It’s a bigger patch, mostly along the spine. Newt’s not looking forward to that one. 

Newt straddles the chair so he faces Hermann, and the machine starts up again. Newt hisses and his back muscles flex. Quiaolian puts a soothing hand on his back. Hermann takes his hand and squeezes. 

It takes Newt a minute or two to settle into the buzz and pain, but once he does, it fades into the background. 

Newt takes Hermann’s hand in both of his. Newt’s playing with it, bending and unbending the digits, tracing the knobs of the knuckles, marvelling at the long fingers, the smooth bump on the middle one from years of writing by hand (nothing quite like paper or a chalkboard to workshop equations). Resists the urge to lick the palm or shove a finger into his mouth. Traces a vein along the back, then flips it over and follows another one with his fingertip from the wrist onto the palm. Hermann watches idly and lets it happen. 

Newt licks his lips and looks up slyly. 

“So.” 

Hermann raises his eyebrows in amusement. “So?” 

“I think Tendo and Allison have a new third.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Well, nothing official yet, but they’ve been weird about letting anyone near their room some mornings. Downright  _ cagey _ .” 

Hermann hums. (that just won’t do) 

“Five bucks says it’s some unsavoury character who’s been sugar daddying Tendo’s coffee habit.” 

Hermann looks scandalised. “ _ Newton _ . It is rude to make bets on the personal lives of our coworkers.” 

Newt bites his lip to keep himself from laughing and waits as Hermann wrestles his good manners (or whatever passes for them) back in a convenient back corner of his mind. 

Hermann sighs. “...Fine. Bet.” 

Newt smirks. He’s caught sight of an overly-familiar brocade suit around the shatterdome, more than business would warrant. If he has to deal with Hannibal Chau in his vicinity he might as well get something out of it. (also, note to self: return the shoe the next time you see him) 

Newt chews on his bottom lip. His eyes flit away from Hermann and around the shop. He jiggles his leg. 

(maybe he hisses and his eye twitches when quiaolian’s needle hits a nerve ending or vibrates over bone) 

(he doesn’t stop playing with hermann’s hand, though) 

Newt bumps his glasses up his nose and grins a crooked grin at Hermann. “Hey.” 

Hermann’s lips twitch up into a small, dry smile. “Hey yourself.” 

Newt points to the wall behind Hermann, more specifically, to the sketch of Brawler Yukon. Not Quiaolian’s work, it’s closer to a technical diagram than the swooping lines and rich gradients of traditional work. (clean and dry and  _ elegant _ in its precision where you least expect it) 

“You should get that one. Body right across your lower trapezius, arms on your scapulae, bam-bam. Low enough that it won’t be visible over your shirt collar.” 

Hermann gives him a look, but it’s fond. “No.” 

“Why not? You did the Mark I code, just throw some in the background and you’re-” 

The look intensifies. “Because I said so.” 

“Qiaolian, back me up here” 

She shakes her head and wipes assorted fluids off the section she’s working on. 

“Not gonna recommend anything across the spine, not for the first one. Sorry, nugget.” 

“Aw c’mon!” Newt protests. 

Hermann looks secretly chuffed. (buzzkill) “ _ Thank _ you. See, no tattoo.” 

Newt sticks his tongue out. Hermann shakes his head and straightens Newt’s glasses. His hand lingers by Newt’s cheek and Newt leans into it. 

The whirring stops and Quiaolian sits back and casts an appraising look over her work. 

“‘Tis done,” she pronounces and catapults her gloves into the rubbish bin. 

Newt turns around, ignoring the burn of freshly tattooed skin twisting, whoops and high-fives her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hermann roll his eyes but he’s smiling (fondly). 

They get Newts back clingwrapped with considerable effort, Newt keyed up and jittery and Hermann fussy. Back at the front desk, Newt pays with a handful of crinkled bills (they weren’t crinkled when he pulled them from the atm this morning), gives Quiaolian a hug (neither of them squeeze as hard as Newt want them to, only because of the tender skin spanning his ribs) grabs Hermann’s hand and pulls him onto the street, waving goodbye to Quiaolian. Newt walks along the sidewalk, swinging their linked hands, almost skipping (riding the post-tattoo high). 

Newt bites his lip. “I still think you should get a tattoo.” 

“I  _ swear to god _ -” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And hey. Thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> And hey. Thanks.


End file.
